


Why Would A Dead Boy L13?

by SherlockScottHolmes



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Depression, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, Jim Moriarty (Bryce Walker), John Watson (Clay Jensen), M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Post-Suicide Mission, Self-Harm, Sherlock Commits Suicide, Sherlock Holmes (Hannah Baker), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Notes, Teen Sherlock, Teenlock, Victor Trevor (Justin Foley), cassette tapes, thirteen reasons why - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockScottHolmes/pseuds/SherlockScottHolmes
Summary: Teenage John Watson returns home from school one day to find a mysterious box lying on his porch. Inside, he discovers seven double-sided tapes recorded by Sherlock Holmes; His classmate and unrequited love, who tragically took his own life two weeks earlier.On the tapes, Sherlock unfolds an emotional audio diary, detailing the thirteen reasons why he decided to end his life. His instructions are clear; Each person who receives the package is one of the reasons why he killed himself. After each person finishes listening to the tapes, they must pass the package on to the next person. If anybody breaks the chain, a separate set of tapes will be released to the public. Each tape is addressed to a select person in his school, and details their involvement in his eventual suicide.Disclaimer: All rights to BBC Sherlock belong to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. All rights to 13 Reasons Why belong to Jay Asher.





	1. Chapter 1

_"Hey, it's Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes. That's right. Don't bother adjusting your... Whatever device you're listening to this on. It's me, live and in stereo. No return engagements, no encore. And this time, absolutely no requests. Get yourself a snack, settle in. Because I'm about to tell you the story of my life..."_

* * *

 

The halls of Liberty High School are different today. Along the walls are PSA posters pinned on with cheap tacks, many of them already withering away. Their colours are garish in the bold, glowing strip lights, and from some overzealous glitter glue. In all seriousness, the posters look like they've been made by a toddler, save for their message and purpose. I see Greg right ahead and as his eyes catch mine, he does a big, exaggerated eye-roll. Something of which I still haven't the heart to reciprocate. My gaze is drawn to the opposite end of the hall, a river of royal blue lockers leading down. "He was so handsome." A girl says, accompanied by her friend, whom is far too busy to care about what is being said to her. They're in front of a locker that's different from all of the others. This one is plastered with cards and notes and photographs. Photographs of Sherlock Holmes, the boy who had committed suicide two weeks earlier. "What is it again?" The girl, the phone-aholic, asks the other, her camera flashing as she takes a selfie in front of the decorated mess. "#NeverForget."

The first bell rings, and the commotion in the hallway dies down until it's reduced to something akin to a ghost town. "What the hell are you doing?" A familiar voice says from behind me. I turn, confronted by the sight of Victor Trevor, Sherlock's former boyfriend. "Nothing." I say, my voice low, as if the hallway isn't empty but, bustling with life. "Nothing." Victor doesn't look convinced, his face screws up into a pronounced grimace. "What are you looking for?" He asks, a certain unfriendly lilt to his voice. I shake my head, not catching his meaning, as his approach was random to begin with. "What would I be looking for?" My eyebrows knit together. "You tell me." Victor responds with a condescending tone. I shake my head and take a step back, the look of confusion never leaving my face. "Look... Do you even know my name?"

"Of course I do, John..." Victor say with a scoff. "Guys--" Their conversation is forced to a halt at the crisp sound of counselor Simmons' voice echoing throughout the desolate hallway. "That was the second bell just now, you two need to get to class." The man says. In a moment of silence, Victor leans in close to my face, his voice hushed. " You're not that innocent, Watson. I don't give a shit what he says." Simmons speaks up again, the patience in his voice dwindling. "Mr. Trevor, let's go." He says. "Get to homeroom." The man looks to me. "You too, Mr. Watson." 

\- Mrs. Cooper's - 

 "Now, there is a wide variety of ways to get help, should you need it. Or maybe if friend does, all right?" All of the information you could need is posted on the board outside of this room, and outside of the main office. It's also on the Liberty High homepage..." A student sighs. "Mrs. Cooper, is it possible that we could be done with all of this?" He asks. "I mean, it's been over a week. Isn't it healthy to like, move on or something?" A plethora of disgusted murmurs float throughout the otherwise silent room. "Okay, sure, yeah... I know, it's tragic but, I don't want to keep being reminded of it all of the time, all right? It's depressing." 

Mrs. Cooper folds her arms and sighs, looking out into the crowd of students, and eventually settling her eyes onto the student. "We are never done with it, Mr. Wilson." She says. "Which is way it is important to know the signs that someone you care for might be in need of help..." She turns to point to the blackboard, where a few scribbled words lie. "I mean, are they withdrawing from friends and family? Is there a drastic change in their appearance? Are they having trouble in school...?"

  _"The group collaboration project is worth one-fifth of your semester grade total, so please be committed and constant, and fair to one another--"  I sit down at my desk, my chair screeching as I scoot it in. "I like the hair..."I gesture, Sherlock had obviously cut it and styled it differently than normal. "The shorter hair." I clarify with a nervous chuckle, Sherlock stares forward at me with a sort of blank expression upon his face. " And um..." I continue. "I don't want to seem wishy-washy, and I realize that I should have said something earlier, and I don't usually like change but, this change actually seems cool-- Good."  Sherlock remains silent for a few moments before replying to my spiel rather quietly. "Thanks, John... I appreciate that." He says._

 “John—“ There’s an echo in my mind. “John....?” It’s Mrs. Cooper. “Are you with us?” She asks. Am I? 

 Greg offers me a ride home, one of which is frowned out with 80’s music and the roar of his car’s engine. It’s been two weeks, and still my mind whirls, working through possible ‘buy-outs’ and alternative scenarios. Greg's fiery red Camaro comes to a steady hall outside of my house, it's engine rumbling on the otherwise silent street. I step out of the vehicle, swinging the door closed and grabbing my backpack. "Well... Thanks, Greg." He waves a dismissive hand. "Hey, don't mention it, John. I'll see ya around." The dark haired boy smiles with a nod before revving the engine and driving off. The accompanying silence due to Greg's departure is like death. I feel an ache in my chest, as if someone is pulling at the tendons in my heart; Twisting them up and then letting them go again. I feel 'his' absence. It's like waking up one day without a limb, or without your heart. You don't need to search to know that it's gone. You don't even have to think. My trainers thud against the wood of my porch, dust swirling up in thick clouds which encompass my being. I reach down to grab the spare key from underneath the doormat, until something catches my attention. A shoe-box; A Converse box to be specific. And it's wrapped sloppily in light brown parcel paper, propped up against our blue painted door at an angle. The address label stuck to the front of the package has my name scribbled to the front, so, I pick it up and head inside. 

I set my backpack down onto one of our kitchen chairs, the wrapped up package still clutched in my right hand, It's paper rough against the pads of my fingers. I place the box onto the kitchen island before walking over to the junk-drawer, which is over-run with things ranging from pens ans pencils to tape and coupons. Finally, my fingers brush against the surface of a blade, and they drift up to grasp the handle of what my brain tells me are scissors. Once I've got them firmly grasped in my hand, I walk over to the package, spreading the scissors' blades and sliding on along the taped edge of the shoe-box. With a light tug, I'm able to pull the top off of it. Inside, there's a rolled up bit of clear bubble-wrap, which I promptly unroll, to discover seven plain cassette tapes. Each of the tapes have a dark blue number written onto their surface in the right-hand corner with what looks like Sharpie. And each tape has it's own number. 1 and 2 on the first, 3 and 4 on the second, and so on. The real question floating through my mind is, 'Who the hell would send these to me...? They're kind of obsolete. Why even listen to them?' I flip one of the last tapes in the row and it has the number 13 written on it but, there's nothing on the back. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a listen. My dad's stereo 'boombox' is on his workbench in the garage, so I'll use that. It plays tapes. 

I walk to the garage, which is a mess, splatters of paint here and there, and sawdust coating the place like a thick blanket of snow. I drag a wooden stool over to the workbench, where the boombox sits, it's coated with wood dust. My eyes scan over the ancient piece of machinery and I smile, pressing my finger into the button labeled 'eject' A clear door/case pops open, empty and waiting. I push the first tape into it and press the holder shut with a 'click.' Then I press play. 

  _"Hey, it's Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes. That's right. Don't bother adjusting your... Whatever device you're listening to this on. It's me, live and in stereo. No return engagements, no encore. And this time, absolutely no requests. Get yourself a snack, settle in. Because I'm about to tell you the story of my life..."_ The tape says. I can't believe it. It's Sherlock's voice but, It can't be. He's... Gone. " _I'm about to tell you the story of my life. More specifically, why my life ended. And if you have received this lovely little box, then you're one of the reasons why."_ My eyes widen and I shake my head. No. " _Now, I'm not saying which tape brings you into the story. But fear not, your name will pop up. I promise. Honestly... Why would a dead boy lie? That sounds like some kind of sick joke, one that I've come to understand too late. The rules here are pretty simple..."_ Sherlock's eerie voice says. " _There are only two. Number one: You listen. And number two: You pass it on. I hope neither of these things will be easy for you._

 "What are you listening to, honey?" I scramble to press the 'stop' button on the stereo, whirling around to face my mom. "Mom! What have we said about helicopter parenting!?" She holds her hands up as if she is surrendering, a small smile on her face. "It's nothing. Just a school project, that's all." I ramble all at once. This answer has gotten me out of deep shit many times before. Any scenario, I use the 'homework/project' excuse. And now... Now, listening to tapes made by a boy who two weeks earlier slit his wrists... Just a project. "Well-" She says, stepping forward. "Do you think I could have a listen?" My heart jolts. 'Well, here's the thing. It's not exactly mine. It's a friends- Greg's. I'm helping him with his project. History. It's boring." I look down at the messy concrete floor, hoping beyond hope that my lengthy excuse is enough. "That's very nice of you." She comments, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek. "I'll leave you be then." 

 I wait for the door to click shut before pressing play and turning the volume down. The tape starts where it left off. " _When you're finished listening to all of the sides... Rewind the tapes, put them all back into the box and pass them on to whoever is next. And you, lucky number 13. You can take these tapes straight to hell with you. Perhaps I'll even see you there. And just remember, if you're tempted to break my two rules in any way, understand that I did make a second copy of these tapes so, if you fail, they will be released in a very public manner. I assure you, this was not a 'spur of the moment' decision. You will never take me for granted... Never again."_

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_"Oh, and I almost forgot to mention... You should have received a map..."_

I take a pained sigh, letting the parcel paper fall from my hands and into the trash bin. Yes, I'm on the list but, why? I remember, just a few days before Sherlock slid the blade across his wrists, somebody had slipped an envelope into the slot of my locker. On the front of it was writing in large red marker. ' _Important'_  it said. I found a map inside.  _The_ map. 

_"Throughout these tapes, I will be mentioning several spots around our beloved little town for you to visit. Now, I sure as hell can't force you to go to these places but, if you would like a bit of insight, head for the stars. Or, perhaps you could just throw the map away and I'll never know..."_

I can feel the stagnant air weighing down on my shoulders, vaguely, I can register the gentle weight of my backpack resting against my right leg. I listen to Sherlock's raw voice as it drifts through the dusty, old speakers. 

 _"Or will I....? Perhaps I'm standing behind you right know."_ There's a mirthless chuckle.  _"I'm not exactly completely sure how the whole dead thing works yet."_

I look over my shoulder at Sherlock's words. They catch me off guard even though I know that there's no one with me... Right? I sigh and lean forward, propping my elbows up on my desk, my chin resting in my hands. A drop of sweat runs down from my hairline. 

_"I apologise... Not good...? Are you ready Mr. Trevor?"_

I remember. Victor Trevor was Sherlock's boyfriend and first kiss...

 _"Now, Victor, darling... You were my very first kiss. Ever. You were my very first hand to hold, my very first person to love; Sadly, you were nothing more than an average guy. Disappointing. And believe me... I'm not saying that to be a prick. I'm saying it because it's true. There was just something about you that appealed to me; Something that made me succumb to your charms. I needed to be your boyfriend. And now that I've sat back and thought about it, I can't fathom why that was. And you don't know this, which is good because it was sort of creepy but, when I was a Freshman and you were a Sophomore, I used to follow you around; Relax, I never stalked you. I was an office attendant during the sixth hour of the day so, I knew your schedule. When they go through my things, after it's done, they'll probably find a copy of your schedule in my belongings; Sadly, they'll never know the truth behind it. Or will they?_ There's a pause.  _"When you finally reach the end of these tapes, Victor, I hope you'll actually understand your roll in all of this. It may seem ridiculously small now but, it matters. Just remember, everything that you do matters... Whether you want it to or not."_

_"Do you know how betrayal feels? Because, if you do, you'll know that it's one of the worst feelings in the world. I'm sure that you didn't mean to do what you did or let me down. Or at least, I'm mostly sure... Maybe you didn't even realize what you were doing. That doesn't matter anymore though... Does it?"_

What did I do? Sherlock, tell me. What did I do...?

_"Look at your maps kids, the very first red star can be found at C-4. No, not the explosive you blithering idiots... Take your pointer finger from the letter C on the map, and drag it down to meet the number 4. Go there. It's a house. My old house. My family and I didn't live there for long. Only a few months. And that... That is where I first laid eyes on you, Victor."_

I sit there after pressing 'pause.' One thought flashes through my mind... These tapes must be bad. They must get dark, which is why they're being passed around like some flu during the winter time. Sherlock must-- must have wanted us to hear what he wanted to say... Only we didn't listen. He knew we would know though. Because now there are consequences. I sigh and press 'play.' 

_"One of my old friends, Matt, he threw a party. I saw you step out of the road with your buddies, and you planted one foot onto my lawn. Unfortunately for you, the sprinklers had been running, so you slipped. It was hilarious at the moment because then your friend tripped over you. Like dominoes."_

I was there too. It's where I met Sherlock for the first time. 

_"We got close fast, didn't we. A few days after the party, we'd even planned to meet up after school. Don't you remember, Victor? Of course you do. I was in my room when you called about a 'math problem.' Mum was suspicious."_

I need to listen to this all but, I haven't got anything portable that can play cassette tapes. Shit-- But Greg does. He's an old fashion kind of guy; Like his dad. 

" _it took you a while to understand my cryptic words but, eventually you caught on... Now, I know what you're all thinking, gosh, Sherlock Holmes was such a man-whore-- Wait, no... Not 'is.' He was. I'm dead, remember? Wrong."_ Sherlock says, his voice sort of angry sounding. " _You're all wrong. Sherlock Holmes never was a whore. I just wanted a kiss- A simple kiss. That's all. Why? What did you hear? I was a teenage boy who'd never been kissed before for Christ's sake. I liked a boy, he liked me-- I thought. We met at the park, That one with the rocket slide. I was at the top, ready to slide down, into your arms, Victor. God, I remember my heart racing at that moment, I had been so fucking anxious about what type of kiss it would be; There were so many. Would it be beautiful? Slow? Thankfully, you didn't shove your tongue down my throat. It was just a kiss. Just a kiss. No need to rewind this tape, friend. You heard me right. And I'll say it very slow so that you can understand me. It. Was. Just. A. Kiss. That's it. But you heard something different, didn't you?"_

Yeah, I did. I'd heard a lot but, I didn't believe it. At least not in the end. A horrible shiver races up my spine; The kind you get when you watch the scariest film ever. 

_"Then we walked over to the merry-go-round thing, and we kissed again, just the same as before. Then what happened? Then what happened? Fucking nothing. That's all. In fact, after that, I went home. But you wanted something dirtier, didn't you? Something sexier. I bet you wanted to hear how my itchy fingers began to play with his zipper, or maybe something ever dirtier. I heard so many stories that I never could keep track of them. But I could keep track of which one was the most popular. And which one wasn't. The truth. To the teenage population, ignorance is fucking bliss. I assure you, you won't forget this truth now. I promise."_

 I can see it now. I can remember it. Sherlock walking past Victor and his goons; Those bastards laughing to themselves but, not about themselves. About the rumors. About Sherlock. God, it must've been so painful for him but, all i ever did was procrastinate talking to him. Sherlock must've been so alone, and I hadn't helped. 

" _You started bragging about it. At first, I didn't know anything but, eventually the rumors made their way to me. And that rumor based on that kiss ruined something that I'd hoped would be special. I bet you know what the rumor was too. It had such a snowball effect. And that was just the beginning."_ There's a pause. " _Turn the tape over for more."_

I reach forward, ready to press stop on the stereo. But Sherlock speaks again. 

" _And Victor, please do stick around. You won't believe where your sullied name pops up next. I hope you use this as a reason to think now."_

This part of the story is over. But, there's more to be discovered. 

 


End file.
